Falling Action and the Widow's Road

My current work-in-progress, a post-apocalyptic novel of 90k words, was practically writing itself when my husband began the final leg of his earthly journey in January. Four months later, he stepped onto a golden road, and I was left to travel the broken one alone.

My blog posts demonstrate the difficulty of that transition. No lie: I cried every day for over two months. Eventually, I cried every other day. Now, 5 1/2 months later, I cry every week or two. The reasons why are random and unexpected. They say that's how grief works.

I guess I've reached the "acceptance" phase, because I've felt a slow uncoupling. I know he's gone. Sometimes, I wonder if "we" even happened. Then I see a picture, and I remember--yes, we existed. We loved. We built a life together.

As I struggle to write the falling action in my novel, I've wondered if I'm now in the falling action of my life. At 58, have I already seen the climax of my journey? Only God knows.

Being a widow is hard. It's lonely. It's frightening. Being a childless one is worse. Scripture doesn't shy away from tackling the subject. Paul addressed the issue in his letter to Timothy:

5She who is truly a widow, left all alone, has set her hope on God and continues in supplications and prayers night and day, 6but she who is self-indulgent is dead even while she lives. 7Command these things as well, so that they may be without reproach. 8But if anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for members of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.

One of the earliest institutions involved widows, who, in Acts 6, were maintained at the common cost:

3Therefore, brothers,^b pick out from among you seven men of good repute, full of the Spirit and of wisdom, whom we will appoint to this duty.

Later, in 9:36, we learn of Tabitha, who sewed garments for the needy, most likely widows, since they were present and terribly upset:

³⁶ Now there was in Joppa a disciple named Tabitha, which, translated, means Dorcas.^[a] She was full of good works and acts of charity. ³⁷ In those days she became ill and died, and when they had washed her, they laid her in an upper room. ³⁸ Since Lydda was near Joppa, the disciples, hearing that Peter was there, sent two men to him, urging him, “Please come to us without delay.” ³⁹ So Peter rose and went with them. And when he arrived, they took him to the upper room. All the widows stood beside him weeping and showing tunics^[b] and other garments that Dorcas made while she was with them. ⁴⁰ But Peter put them all outside, and knelt down and prayed; and turning to the body he said, “Tabitha, arise.” And she opened her eyes, and when she saw Peter she sat up. ⁴¹ And he gave her his hand and raised her up. Then, calling the saints and widows, he presented her alive. ⁴² And it became known throughout all Joppa, and many believed in the Lord.

I don't think the Church as a whole spends enough time talking about widows. In my 58 years on this planet, I don't remember a single sermon on the subject. Using the passage above, a pastor would likely focus on Tabitha's charity, not the widows in need.

The passage doesn't say, but I'll bet Tabitha was a widow. In my experience, it's the widows who most often tend other widows. Why? Because they know. They know.

You know who else knew? Our Lord. Joseph had been dead for some time before Christ was crucified. From the cross, he uttered these words to John, the only disciple present at the cross, the only one who hadn't forsaken Him:

²⁶ When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son!” ²⁷ Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother!” And from that hour the disciple took her to his own home.

From the cross, He sought to care for Mary's wellbeing and provision. As the eldest son, Mary's care would have fallen to Him. His half-brothers would have had a legal responsibility to care for their mother, but at the moment of His crucifixion, they were home in Capernaum, and not particularly supportive or sympathetic to His ministry. John was.

After witnessing God's sacrifice for us that day, I suppose John might have believed everything that followed would be nothing more than falling action. He would know better shortly, and we know because of him. The climax of the story hasn't even happened yet.

So I guess I'll keep plodding along, barefoot in my broken place, trusting in God to provide whatever waits for me. There's danger in assuming I'm in the falling action of my life, a temptation to fall into complacency and uselessness. I don't think I was created for that. Neither were you.

Our road may be broken, but it's still leading us somewhere wonderful, and our willingness to walk it--or even belly crawl on it, is a quiet act of defiance.